


since the thing perhaps is to (purchase) flowers and not to be afraid

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Break Up, Floriography, Florist Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Mentioned Christophe Giacometti/Mystery Guy, Mentioned Jean-Jacques Leroy/Isabella Yang - Freeform, Mentioned Sara Crispino/Mila Babicheva, Misunderstanding, Romance, The Language of Flowers, meet cute, mention of cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-08-27 17:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16706536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: He doesn’t even look at anything beyondKatsuki Hothouse and Floristetched in brilliant gold script on the glass door as he wanders past kitschy gifts, buckets of peonies, roses, lilies, and orchids. As Victor half-shuffles, half-stumbles to the register counter he notes the rows of fat emerald-green succulents, one of which has a small crack in its pot.Sober, happy Victor might think it’s a metaphor. Drunk, angry at the world Victor pretends he can’t see it. Swaying  a little, he drops all of the cash in his wallet so that the wrinkled, imperfect bills and heavy change clunk onto the granite.“I need a bouquet that saysfuck youin flowers.”





	since the thing perhaps is to (purchase) flowers and not to be afraid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [regardinglove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/regardinglove/gifts).



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It’s not like Victor wanted this to happen, but it has and it is, and so after doing about five Shotskis with Chris and Gosha for his pain, he stumbles into a quaint shop next to the bar about twenty out from its closing time.

He doesn’t even look at anything beyond _Katsuki Hothouse and Florist_ etched in brilliant gold script on the glass door as he wanders past kitschy gifts, buckets of peonies, roses, lilies, and orchids. As Victor half-shuffles, half-stumbles to the register counter he notes the rows of fat emerald-green succulents, one of which has a small crack in its pot.

Sober, happy Victor might think it’s a metaphor. Drunk, angry at the world Victor pretends he can’t see it. Swaying  a little, he drops all of the cash in his wallet so that the wrinkled, imperfect bills and heavy change clunk onto the granite.

“I need a bouquet that says _fuck you_ in flowers.”

Only then does he see the florist, standing several feet away on a stepstool to place a bonsai tree on a high shelf. He’s got a befuddled expression behind blue half-rimmed glasses thanks to his wide brown eyes. His hair is a bit out of place but in a charming way, like it was the intent for the style, and his shirt is striped bright blue and black behind a big green apron. His jeans are rolled up at the ankles to prominently display a pair of yellow espadrilles, and he apparently doesn’t believe in socks.

The speed at which the florist recovers is nothing short of amazing. “Geraniums.”

“Come again?” Victor asks. He’s sure he reeks of the Stoli and the third boyfriend in two years to cheat on him. Whatever. He knows the level to which he’s sunk. Cao was supposed to be different.

“Geraniums mean stupidity.” He works quickly, grabbing things in red, orange, yellow, and even purple. Victor can’t name any of them. “Foxglove for insincerity, yellow carnations are the flower equivalent of _son I am disappoint_ , and orange lilies mean straight up hatred.”

They’re arranged in a striking, artistic bouquet within moments. The proportions are perfect, but it’s not quite symmetrical…just enough is off about it to make it visually interesting.

“Also, foxglove is poisonous,” the florist adds with a chipper tone.

“Can I have them sent?” Victor manages.

“Of course, but deliveries are only during business hours unless you’re willing to pay a surcharge,” he’s told.

“That’s perfect, honestly, I’ll give you his office,” Victor says. His handwriting is drunkenly sloppy, and he makes sure to give the correct floor for his now-ex’s company.

His savior reads the information. “Cao Bin, 27th floor south office of the Hanyu Building.” His smile is a bit wry. “We normally only send glad tidings there.”

“Sometimes people are actual trash,” Victor grumbles. “Can you make the note say ‘I found Robert’s boxers in our laundry. We’re done’.”

“He cheated?” The note of disbelief and pity is… a lot. Victor would sooner die than acknowledge the pity.

“Sure did,” Victor says. “Can do you same day through a courier?”

“Yeah, we have a kid that can do it,” the florist offers. Victor moves the cash to him, and he waves it off. “This one’s on the house.”

“What? No! I need to pay handsomely for my pettiness!” Victor gracelessly shoves the money at him. The florist far too elegantly side-steps it, and somehow his wallet is back in his overcoat.

“Your money is no good here today,” he’s offered. “You can tip Minami really well, though.”

The kid in question has bleach-blond hair and a fang. He cannot be more than three apples high, and his smile is nauseatingly bright. “Anything for you, Yuuri!” He grabs the bouquet, wrapped in red paper and black ribbon, and dashes to his bike. Then he’s off, and Victor hopes the kid doesn’t get hit since right of way seems to be a foreign concept to him.

The florist with his soft eyes and self-effacing smile shrugs one shoulder. “My last boyfriend cheated, too. I threw his things on the quad and hired a ladies’ Barbershop Quartet to dump him in my stead. Then my best friend poured lighter fluid on his things. Didn’t burn them, that’s an _actual crime_ , but… the smell you know? It never really washes out.”

“That’s… really quite a rich tapestry there,” Victor replies. “But. I’m sorry.”

“Eh,” he replies. “Men are trouble”

“Understatement of the millennium,” Victor adds. The guy smiles at him again, and something pushes aside a bit of the bitter rage he feels, like the slight parting of a storm cloud after a heavy rain. “What was your name?”

“Yuuri,” he answers. “Katsuki Yuuri. My family owns the hothouse and shop. I help during my breaks from university. I come home every Valentine’s Day, too, since that’s the the busiest weekend for this entire industry.” 

It’s May, so he’d go back to whatever college in about three months. “Okay, well, thank you very much for the kindness, Yuuri. I hope whoever you date next respects you more and loves you as you deserve.”

Yuuri offers his right hand, and Victor shakes it. It lingers just a smidge, though that could be the five beers on top of the Shotskis talking. “I hope the same for you.”

Victor leaves, goes home to cry into his poodle’s fur, leaves Cao Bin on read like he’s just some ho (because he _is_ ), consumes his weight in take-out, and then sleeps for sixteen hours.

 

* * *

 

The next week, Victor is still salty like his secret family gravlax recipe, but he’s less uncouth and unpolished. He finds himself at the Katsuki Hothouse and Florist again, but for a different reason.

A happier, all-around better one.

He opens the door to be greeted by inoffensive 1960s folk rock on the overhead radio speakers. The Feng shui fountains bubble around the store like some kind of cheerful water cryptid saying hello from a zen garden. Today the room is full of bins filled to the brim with brilliant green bamboo cuttings, hydrangeas in four shades of purple, peonies and ranunculus —

“Can I help y… oh hi!” Yuuri greets him. He holds a beautifully arranged vase of white roses and about six things Victor couldn’t name with a rifle aimed at his skull, in varying shades of deep red and violet. Victor thinks one of the plants may be hellebores. “Did the first bouquet not get the point across?”

Yuuri’s hair is slicked back today. His shirt is white and short-sleeved, and looking at the muscle tone in his forearms is a bit of a distraction from the rest of their interactions. His jeans are a darker wash than last week, but they are again rolled up to display the yellow espadrilles.

He _really_ seems to have voted No on Proposition Socks.

“Oh it worked I think, I don’t know, I blocked all communication and mailed his belongings back to him,” Victor says. “But! My favorite coworker is adopting a pair of twins with her wife!” Victor shows Yuuri a photograph of a smiling redhead with a side-shave and a woman with waist length black hair and glittering violet eyes. “The twins are fraternal, a boy and a girl. I’m not sure what to get them, but I want to do _something_ to congratulate them.”

Yuuri lights up. “I love a proper challenge.”

He exits into a full-sized cooler, and comes out with arms full of the same type of bloom but in two colors:  scarlet and a gradient creamsicle shade. He also has deep purple (almost black really) scoop things and lush green sprays. He makes a beautiful, balanced bouquet in a hammered gold vase. “Dahlias in two shades, blackberry scoop scabiosa, yellow roses for flavor. Nothing pink or blue because gender essentialism is _so_ 1930s.”

“It’s incredible,” Victor says when he finishes. “How much?”

“Eighty,” Yuuri answers.

Victor hands him a solid hundred; at Yuuri’s confusion, he waves at him to keep it. “Gratuity for saving me. I didn’t have to pretend to entertain taking him back.”

“That sounds more like hazard pay,” Yuuri quips as he puts the change in an envelope on the edge of the till.

“Do you do this?” Victor asks as he gives the address for Mila and Sara: their home, not business, as it’s more special that way.

Yuuri looks up while adjusting his glasses. His lips purse with confusion.

“For your lovers,” Victor elaborates, because that was kind of a stupid-sounding thing to say since _obviously_. “When you find someone special. Do you spoil them with these kinds of offerings?”

Yuuri shrugs. “They haven’t liked it in the past, so I don’t bother anymore.”

Yuuri sounds a bit wistful, and Victor’s heart feels muddled from his admission. He’s good at his job. The combinations are unique and lovely. His smile is brighter than Polaris. Why would anyone turn their nose up at such a thoughtful gift? “Then they really didn’t deserve you.”

A flush fills Yuuri's face and just as he clears his throat to speak, the blond nugget-boy with the kilowatt smile comes in from a delivery carrying a large empty box. “The proposal went off perfectly,” Minami says. “Isabella said yes! JJ’s mom put it on Youtube already.”

Yuuri is about to reply before he gives Victor a look. He favors him with a sheepish smile.

“Go do your job, Yuuri,” Victor offers with a lot of warmth.

Yuuri gives him a crooked smile as he heads to the back with the crates. He looks over his shoulder. “What’s your name again?”

“Victor,” Victor offers.

“See you around then, Victor,” Yuuri says. He disappears, and Victor scrambles to take one of the shop’s business cards.

Just.

In case his mom wants flowers for her birthday.

 

* * *

 

Victor ends up buying a _lot_ of flowers after that.

His Gran’s birthday is five days later, a fact he almost entirely forgets, and so naturally, he goes to Yuuri. Gran doesn’t like pink or red, so Yuuri gives him a unique creation in green and white with tiny touches of yellow for visual interest. The vase is rose gold. Gran loves them, mentioning them on every phone call for the next six months.

Chris gets engaged. Yuuri sends Minami out into the concrete wilderness with red roses and breathtaking peonies so high the kid can barely see as he rides to Chris’s flat.

A long time work project’s launch is a rousing success. Victor has Yuuri’s family do full-service for the party including hanging indoor pergolas. HR gives him a bit of an eyebrow raise when they reimburse him for the charges, but that’s accounting’s problem.

Victor’s likely paid for Yuuri’s tuition at this point, but he can’t be bothered to care.

He runs out of actual reasons, though, yet he’s in the shop on his lunch today anyhow.

“You look lost,” Yuuri says. He’s got three small vases filled with matching arrangements of green hydrangeas and white sprays.

“What are these for?” Victor asks. “Table centerpieces for a wedding?”

“No,” Yuuri says. “Ms. Baranovskaya gets fresh pieces every week for her dressing room and bedside tables.”

Victor blinks. “But why?”

“Why not?” Yuuri asks as his reply. “You don’t need to have an occasion for flowers, that’s a weird kind of gatekeeping attitude since floral services can be expensive. She likes them and lives alone, so she gets them every week because she feels it brightens her loft a lot. We charge her at the end of the month with a card she keeps on file, and she gives us feedback on combinations or colors she liked.”

Huh.

“So they’re really an any time thing,” Victor says. He watches Yuuri work, clipping off leaves and angling stems just so.

“There’s nothing wrong with saving them for occasions, either,” Yuuri says. He brushes past Victor, going up on his still-refusing-socks-protected-by-yellow-suede toes to grab a ribbon for the vases. He smells less like flowers and more like clean linen up close, and when he drops back down to the soles of his feet, he’s looking right into Victor’s eyes.

 _He’s… lovely_ , Victor thinks. If this were a movie, he would probably be kissing him while orchestral music swells. A philharmonic plays in his head anyways, but his chance vanishes as Yuuri hums and flits back to his work.

“If you want,” Yuuri offers, after a finishing touch of yellow-green ribbon is tied smartly around the neck of each vase. “I can make some for you. I like experimenting, and if you just pay for the flowers at cost… it could be fun.”

Yuuri’s cheeks are a bit pink, and Victor stares at him for a while. “I’d like that,” Victor says. “Let’s… do a trial run first.”

Yuuri smiles, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

 _God the world is so beautiful when this boy smiles_ , Victor thinks.

 

* * *

 

Victor’s trial _just because_ home arrangements are a success, so he now has standing appointments on Tuesdays for Yuuri’s weekly offerings. On the third week, Victor enters the store, and instead of Yuuri, he’s greeted by his older sister, Mari. “Hi.”

“Is…Yuuri working today?” Victor asks.

She gives him an up and down look, causing him to feel judged. They’ve not spoken much, Mari being a bit taciturn and focused on her job when he’s been in her presence before. “No, he’s off. Phichit’s in town.”

Phichit?

Mari gives Victor the crate with his three weekly vases, and then she pulls out her iPhone to show him a picture of Yuuri and another boy. A boy whose smile could melt any heart and eyeliner that could shatter glass. They’re close, taking a selfie together, and Yuuri has a bit of a flush on his cheeks as Phichit kisses the left side of his face.

Oh.

He… mended fences with his ex. Or this is a new boyfriend. Or… literally… Victor’s heart broke too recently, and Yuuri is sweet and pretty and…

The smell of the flowers is kind of choking him now. “Right, well…” He tries to smile. He manages most of one. “I’ll just… see him another time!”

She shrugs, putting the phone down and pulling a box of cigs out of her apron pocket. “Sure.”

“Good day,” Victor says. He leaves, going home to walk Makkachin since he was headed there anyways and when he does he moves slowly, letting Makkachin do as she pleases when typically he’s more rigid about not letting her poke around.

It’s weirdly, unreasonably soul-crushing that Yuuri has a guy who makes him so happy. If he was single, maybe Victor could have been that guy.

Victor sends an email to the Katsuki Florist cancelling the weekly arrangements. The current ones never get taken out of their delivery box. He has no right being this let down. Yuuri is only in town for the summer from whatever college he goes to, and Victor just ended a bad romance himself…

Yuuri’s so warm though, and he is kind.  He’s helped Victor far above and beyond every single time he’s needed it. It’s terrible. The timing is completely wrong for them both.

Victor makes his tea with a dollop of jam, and he tunes out some banal comedy on Netflix while Makkachin sleeps across his knees. Above all else, he lies to himself the loneliness is from Cheating Cao Bin and not Yuuri Being Out of Reach.

 

* * *

 

Victor doesn’t go near the florist for almost an entire month. He walks on the opposite side of the street now so there won’t be any temptation. Sometimes he sees Yuuri helping a client through the windows, but he keeps moving. If he stops, he'll go in, and then he'll stay in a holding pattern.

He can’t bring himself to date. He no longer gifts people flowers, giving them Amazon cards or fancy snacks from Williams Sonoma that he’s sure Deadspin will pick on in their annual Hater’s Guide.

It _sucks_.

There are bins outside the Katsuki florist now that it’s a bit less humid moving into autumn and they won't wilt quite as fast. Victor will be able to walk on his normal side of the street soon since Yuuri will be gone, and probably by his term break Victor won’t be sad anymore.

It’ll be fine.

Yuuri is outside filling them this morning, and they look like a technicolor rainbow brought to Earth. Victor pays it little mind when he hears someone shout his name.

It is definitely Yuuri.

Victor sighs and keeps walking, but then there’s a break in traffic and his shoulder’s being tapped like Yuuri is Hermes or something. “Victor! I haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Ah, yeah, hi Yuuri,” he manages. “Busy with work. You know.”

Yuuri looks a bit hesitant. “Sure, that’s what… okay. Um… I have…” He fidgets, looking down at his hands, shoved into his apron's pockets. “You canceled your arrangements. You didn’t like them? I would have made them differently if you’d told me--”

Yuuri is genuinely hurt; Victor hates that he hurt him. “Oh, I had to tighten my belt a little. Sorry, I should have explained,” Victor says. It’s definitely a lie, but he doesn’t want Yuuri to think it’s the quality of his work. "They were all beautiful, especially the one with the blue roses."

Yuuri perks up a little. “Thanks, and I get it about the money. Um...anyways, can you swing by the shop on your way home tonight? I’d like to maybe catch up.”

Victor’s brain tries to say _I can’t, sorry_ , but his heart and mouth respond with, “I’d like that.”

Yuuri smiles, and he looks a bit relieved. He has on a plaid flannel shirt, rolled up jeans, and the espadrilles. He needs to learn about socks still, especially as it’s getting cooler. He may catch a cold. “See you later, then.”

Victor nods.

All through his work, Victor tries unsuccessfully to find an excuse to avoid Yuuri. Nothing sounds like a good excuse. Truthfully, even if Yuuri is spoken for and about to go away to school… he wants to at least say goodbye. Maybe then he can truly move on.

Victor heads to the shop, and there’s Yuuri. He’s changed his clothing from that morning, wearing a black-button up shirt with a hint of a red sheen and dark wash jeans. Instead of the normal yellow shoes, he has on light gray boots. His glasses are nowhere to be found, and he holds something behind his back, eyes darting nervously to the door as Victor enters.

“Hi, Yuuri,” Victor says. “What’s up?”

Yuuri swallows, and then he shows Victor an elaborate bouquet in shimmering pink and gold paper. There are white roses and smaller, little flowers shaped like bells with a sweet aroma, purple-pink lily-shaped blooms, pink blossoms a lighter shade than the paper, and some vibrant blue Forget-Me-Nots.

Offering it like it is the finest gold, like it’s his literal heart in his hands even though it’s clearly on his sleeve, Yuuri gives Victor a bashful, hopeful look. Victor takes it with equal care and sees a card inside.

 _Gladioli - I’m Really Sincere_  
_White Rose - You’re Heavenly_  
_Forget-Me-Not - True Love_  
_Pink Camellias - Longing For You_  
_Lily of the Valley - Return to Happiness_  
_The paper matches that shirt you wore when we met._

“The um… you said if I found someone I should make a bouquet for them, and that if they don’t appreciate it, then they’re not good enough for me,” Yuuri stammers. “I’ve made you a lot of them already, and you said you appreciated them. This one is a lot different, so I hope… you like _this_. I hope you like this one most of all.”

“Your boyfriend though,” Victor says. Is it this simple? Can it be? “What about your boyfriend?”

“What boyfriend?” Yuuri asks.

Victor looks in his eyes, and Yuuri genuinely seems to not understand who he means. “That guy in the photo with the eyeliner.”

Yuuri squints. “Phichit? Phichit’s the friend who doused my ex’s clothes in lighter fluid. He’s also seeing someone. A _definitely not me_ someone.”

“Oh,” Victor says. The flowers are lovely, each kind distinctly fragrant without its perfume fighting the others. They harmonize into a soft, delicate aroma he begins to memorize. “So you… but school—”

Yuuri shrugs. “I’ll try if you will. And I graduate at the end of this term anyhow.”

Victor smiles. Yuuri smiles too, and the poor bouquet gets crushed a little flat as Victor finally kisses him for the first time.

Even years down the road, when Yuuri makes Victor this custom arrangement again on every anniversary, it never ceases to make Victor’s heart skip and his love grow.

**Author's Note:**

> So Shifty I wrote TWO fics ooooohhhhhhhhhh.
> 
> The bouquets are based off my best friend's actual real life floral work for her event planning business. Please give [Folie à deux](https://www.instagram.com/folie.a.deux.events/) a peep if you're into off-beat wedding and event planning or just like the things "Yuuri" made here. *cough*
> 
> Beta'ed by Robbie. <3 Title is a mangled e.e. cummings quote.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


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